Turpin glanced at her and carried on like a health-conscious jogger on a treadmill at the gym. ‘I knew there would be a logical explanation,’ said Sam, moving his neck as if trying to release tension.
‘Did you? You sure about that? You didn’t think it was Murray’s ghost come back to haunt you because you won’t decorate his cottage?’
Sam gave a tinny laugh. ‘Nooo.’ He opened a cupboard and got out some treats, which immediately had Turpin mewing and snaking around his legs. ‘We need to make sure this is properly closed; otherwise you could have been trapped in there,’ said Sam, giving Turpin’s head a rub before shutting the dryer door. It seemed that they were getting closer. Maybe Sam was slowly coming around to things.
24
7thNovember
Blythe spent the morning helping her mum and stepdad decorate their house. It was a joint effort with the attached semi so that the lights ran all the way along both properties. They had coloured lights in the conifer to make it look like a Christmas tree and white lights in the bushes on a low-speed flash setting. Nothing too gaudy as their house was more of a drive-by property, but when added to all the other homes on the street it gave a magical effect.
Blythe was hurriedly shifting boxes of decorations out of the way when one particular object caught her eye and pulled her up short. It was wrapped in tissue paper with just a tiny part showing, but even from just that she knew exactly what it was. She put the box down, picked up the tissue-covered ornament and gently released it from the paper. It was a robin. Pretty, delicate and perfect. She remembered every Christmas her father had insisted that it be placed up near the star so the robin looked like he’d just landed on their tree and was looking down on the celebrations. She smiled at the memory. But then, like so many things with her father, she remembered the harsh criticism in his words when she didn’t get it right. However hard she tried she always seemed to disappoint him.
But not anymore. She straightened her spine. She would prove to Ludo that she was a worthy successor capable of managing his business when he was ready to step down. That would show her father exactly what she was made of. She had a point to prove and nothing would deter her from that course.
They wouldn’t be putting up their indoor Christmas tree just yet, so she set the box aside and carefully replaced the little robin ornament. Things weren’t exactly going to plan at work and she knew her dad would be in touch soon for their annual present exchange – it was also her one opportunity a year to see him face to face.
‘You okay?’ asked Greg, waving a hand playfully in front of her eyes.
‘I zoned out.’
‘Now don’t be worrying about how you’re going to afford to buy me an Aston Martin for Christmas because I’m sure you can pay by instalments,’ he said with a wink.
‘Yeah, a hundred pounds a month until I’m a hundred and fifty.’
‘There you go. Don’t worry about wrapping it either,’ he said, giving her a one-armed squeeze. ‘Come on, what’s really up?’
What a question. Ludo and his disappointed expression flashed into her mind, closely followed by a stubborn-looking Sam Ashton. Leonora slapping a palm on her flip chart was right behind him and her dad pulling his ‘I never expected you to amount to much’ face. ‘Just stuff.’
‘Work stuff or boy stuff?’
His turn of phrase made her smile. ‘A few different things. Work and some added Christmas stuff thrown in.’
‘That’s not good. Do you want to talk about it?’ She shook her head. ‘Want me to threaten to thump someone?’ She smiled. Greg was so placid there was no way he’d ever hit anyone. ‘Unless it’s Leonora because that wouldn’t be a fair fight. She’d deck me with her little finger.’
‘No, you’re okay. They’re things I need to sort out myself.’
‘How about a mince pie, not homemade so they’re safe, and one of my special hot chocolates?’ He looked keen and she wasn’t sure if that was because she’d provide the ideal excuse for him to join her or he was just being especially kind.
‘Go on then. Why not add diabetes to my list of problems.’
‘There, that’s the Christmas spirit.’ And he gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze.
*
After finishing off the decorations with Greg, while her mum fed them her version of a roast dinner in a wrap – so it was transportable – she set off across the village to Sam’s. The houses down to the crossroads were already getting their Christmas makeover – neighbours wrapped in scarves and hats, teetering on ladders, waved to her as she passed. Number seventy-two was pumping up his inflatable Father Christmas that would have at least four punctures before they got to Christmas Eve. The two elderly sisters at Rock Cottage had been knitting all year and they were yarn bombing their own hedge with festive creations. This really was a very special place to live and it made something tingle in Blythe’s gut.
Putting up strings and strings of lights had been quite therapeutic and had given her time to think. If she didn’t put some decorations up on Sam’s cottage then it would completely spoil the look the village was working so hard to achieve but if she did put some up then Sam would be seriously unhappy. When she weighed the two things up it was an easy decision. She was far more scared of Leonora than she was of Sam. Also, the village winning the competition and making lots of money for charity was more important than Sam and his, quite frankly, ridiculous Christmas phobia. And if he genuinely hated it then she’d just have to take it all down.
Blythe went round the back and let herself in the utility room. ‘Hi, Sam, are you home?’ The house alarm began beeping. ‘Bugger it.’ She strode through the cottage and punched in the code. At least with Sam gone she had a chance to put some lights up. Perhaps if he just saw how pretty it was, how it fitted in with the rest of the village, and if someone was doing all the hard work for him as a surprise, who could be cross about that?
Blythe took the shed keys off the hook in the utility and went down the garden to check Murray’s decorations. She opened up the door and stared at the contents. The last time she’d looked in through the window it had been crammed to the roof with snowmen, reindeer and some questionable penguins, which were an eBay purchase Murray had heartily regretted. Now all that was there were the extension cables and a rusty Christmas tree stand.
‘You absolute swine, Sam Ashton.’ Blythe was fuming. Not only because she had been outwitted but also because those decorations were part of the village display. If he didn’t want them then fair enough, but getting rid of them on the quiet was unacceptable. She rang his number.
‘Hallo,’ said Sam, in a cheery voice.
‘Where the bloody hell are Murray’s decorations?’
